


Rough Surf on the Coast

by Jakixarv



Series: Jakixarv's take on trans Reggie Peters [1]
Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Coming Out, Gen, High School, Mild Swearing, Trans Male Character, Trans Reggie Peters, pre-death by hot dog, tbh this is mostly luke and reggie because...a lot of reasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28226697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jakixarv/pseuds/Jakixarv
Summary: Reggie is just dodging a lot of stuff because frankly existing as he is gets to be a lot.He would be lying if he ever said wrecking-ball personalities caused more harm than good.
Relationships: Luke Patterson & Reggie (Julie and The Phantoms)
Series: Jakixarv's take on trans Reggie Peters [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079228
Comments: 4
Kudos: 64





	Rough Surf on the Coast

**Author's Note:**

> This could probably be a bit OoC, but it's mostly introspective and in the past anyway and we haven't got a lot of either things yet.  
> Finding a crowd that gets you and wants to make fantastic beautiful feats and expression and artwork with you can save your life, bring you back to life, help you understand yourself in ways you might have never considered. Cue many ghost metaphors.  
> In all seriousness, I think this show could really go a lot of directions in having these now-alive-again kids explore themselves in new contexts and with new 25 years of information and then make like seven different shows about it. I have so many currently-incoherent thoughts. I LIKE THIS SHOW WOW  
> Also inspired by how I kind of coasted through high school without a lot of names for what was wrong with me (symptoms syndrome (fr tho untreated ADHD and anxiety and also existing as queer and trans without realizing it)). But I guess that's why art is so cool, to be able to see yourself in situations and maybe be inspired to try it all out.  
> Hope you enjoy! Would love to talk to folk about any and all headcanon/canon/hopes for future episode stuff.  
> Title is a lyric from Against Me!'s 'Transgender Dysphoria Blues'

School wasn’t so much a nightmare as a bunch of rooms full of booby traps. Booby traps that he’d consistently get hit with but only really stung a little bit each time. But he had seen _My Girl_ , thank you very much, and a lot of stings could do a number on you.

Dodging most of them got easier.

The minute Luke sat next to him in history, though, at the beginning of sophomore year, spying the chords written in the margins of his notes, was the minute Reggie realized he might have Someone else to ease that sting. They whispered about their favorite inspirations for the rest of the period, history lecture and notes forgotten.

Luke invited him to lunch in the band room, and there Reggie met Alex.

Luke also quickly took to calling him ‘Reg’ and, honestly, Reggie had to hold back tears on that one, even if the familiarity was rushing it a bit. He could tell that was just a _Luke_ thing.

Admittedly, Luke might have just been flirting with him. At least, at the beginning.

Something dropped on Reggie’s desk, as he had been zoning out waiting for history to start. He blinked a few times before recognizing the double-lined writing of lyrics and chords in Luke’s notebook.

“Let’s work on—” Luke stopped himself, ran a hand through his hair, and tried again: “Work on some stuff with me?”

The phrasing hardly changed, barely shifted from a demand to a request, but Reggie honestly admired the forward attitude. Something warm curled in Reggie’s stomach, at the realization that Luke trusted Reggie’s opinion, was asking for feedback. Even if the _way_ he asked had Reggie raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

Just as he’d dropped the notebook, Luke picked it up again to slap it on Reggie’s shoulder. “Shut up,” he laughed.

“ _I_ didn’t say anything,” Reggie dodged out of the way of another notebook-slap.

“I could see it in your eyes.”

Reggie just rolled said eyes and gestured for Luke to sit down. “C’mon. Can’t help your hopeless ass while you’re up there. I hope you’re not gonna try to get through class standing like that?”

Luke made the smart decision to not try for a third slap and put the notebook back down, letting Reggie get a good look at…bass tablature. That Luke had written out for him. Alongside whatever he was brainstorming for guitar and voice, there were a few noted squares drawn out. Small notes of, _‘dissonance?’, ‘Go for a minor chord?’,_ and, _‘Ask Reg later!’_ had Reggie pushing down the warmth that had now risen to his chest.

“It’s been a while since I’ve played bass, so I won’t be very helpful until I can hear it,” Luke whispered, “but you should be good. More than good.” Reggie got that. Trying to write stuff down before it ran out of your brain without an instrument was torture, sometimes.

“Well, I’ve got a couple ideas for the basic rhythm, though I do love a good riff,” he said to earn a chuckle from Luke, “perhaps an embellishment or two,” and he felt a light cuff on his shoulder.

They both straightened up as Mr. Palmer cleared his throat at the front of the class, thankfully sparing them any embarrassment via pop quiz. Because Reggie had _no_ idea what was going on in their lecture right now.

After a minute of pretending to pay attention, Luke was leaned right back over the notebook between them.

The touches quickly became commonplace.

The first time, Luke’s hand was on his shoulder without any warning, sending Reggie sprawling out of the two chairs he’d laid out on in the empty music room.

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry,” he’d put up both hands, trying as smoothly as possible to extend one out and help Reggie up.

“I, uh,” Reggie’s heart was still pounding, his brain screaming _threat_ , and angry words rising in his chest, only to be forced down by years of practice. Years of…not practice, no, but…

He cleared his throat. “I’ll be good, man,” and Luke gave him a small smile that sunk in Reggie’s stomach like a rock, before he finally hoisted the bassist to his feet and checked him over.

The weight in his abdomen smarted, as if this moment was watershed, a fine dusting of eggshells around Reggie that his new friends could tiptoe on.

But then the next day Luke was walking into history and saying, “Hey, Reg,” with the same brightness he had every other day Before, only waiting until Reggie had acknowledged him to clap a hand on his shoulder and give a squeeze.

Touch was Luke’s _thing_ , of course, and a little practice was all it took for Luke to understand how he could have it with Reggie. Intuitive, really, like slotting new words and notes into a song.

A week passed, then two, and as their friendship started stretching into months Reggie found himself initiating the hands held, the arms thrown over shoulders, the hair ruffling, in almost equal measure.

Songs started forming, and they never really stopped.

“And I want the line to sound like it could have ended, you know, but it continues into the next phrase…” Luke shook out his hands, as if the gestures could better communicate what he was saying.

“Like enjambment?” Alex said, earning stares from the two bandmates, “what?”

Reggie simply laughed, “nice.”

Luke just said, “excellent word, thank you, _nerd,_ ” he put out a hand to ruffle Alex’s hair, which the blond quickly ducked, letting Luke avoid a slow swing from his drumsticks in turn.

They’d taken to hanging out in the music room after school until Mr. DeWitt made to leave, which usually gave them a good hour. Reggie pointedly didn’t suggest meeting up at his house to do something similar, and Luke and Alex would get sad looks in their eyes every time trying to meet up outside of school to practice was mentioned.

“We’ll figure something out, eventually,” Luke would say.

_Eventually_ —Bobby joined their group and, after realizing flirting with Reggie wouldn’t lead anywhere—he liked _girls_ , thank you very much—they had a place set to practice.

They were meeting up almost every day after school, usually only two or three of them at a time, depending on schedules. But it only took a week before Reggie believed that Bobby’s parents were completely chill with him crashing in the garage-turned-studio.

More and more now Reggie was realizing the stark contrast between how he _was_ with the band, and his home life. Luke and Alex and Bobby _got_ him, maybe not completely, but enough to start bringing him back into his own head.

They made a place where he wanted to be himself.

Reggie was feeling particularly neutral that day. News wasn’t really affecting him overmuch, no need to overthink every interaction, pleasantly coasting through school without much to do. Detached. Finally, an accurate expectation of consequences—that what he did and said didn’t matter, nearly as much as the anxiety that oft settled in his brain led him to believe.

The pressure that had been building since before he’d met Luke, since the day he’d found the words to describe the current _wrongness_ he felt about himself, about how he moved in the world. Pressure that he wasn’t sure how to direct, for fear of what he might do to himself, or what everyone else might _see_. That could explode at any moment and Reggie didn’t have any handbook for damage control.

Even then, though he debated with himself for a few minutes as he scribbled a line deeper and deeper into his notebook. _Like a band-aid, Reginald_. And finally, several deep breaths and a few raised eyebrows from Luke later he finally--

“Can you call me he?” It wasn’t like Reggie was _out_ to anyone in particular, much more like it was inconsequential to him how much they knew.

Or, rather, he would never willingly mention it or point it out to anyone, because he almost never had to speak to them anyway, so the amount of trouble wasn’t really worth it.

_Mostly_ , it really didn’t matter to him what people thought he _was_ , just that they assumed it meant he was any sort of way _because_ of it.

Yeah, that was a lie he could keep telling himself for now.

Luke had stopped playing, which Reggie appreciated. But then he was setting his guitar to the side and scooted his chair closer and that was a kind of gravitas that Reggie hadn’t expected or asked for, really, and now Luke was putting his _hand_ on Reggie’s _knee_ , and—

“Of course I can, Reg,” was all he said.

Reggie didn’t want to leave the silence to stretch forever, but Luke was _looking_ at him, not like he needed more explanation or more _anything_ from him, but…

It was now a space Luke was giving that was _completely Reggie’s_.

He honestly didn’t want to say anything more, for fear of it ending. To have the utter, absolute focus of one of Reggie’s first close friends in who knew how long breaking from him. More words could be for another time.

But he also wasn’t sure how much longer he could go without making sure someone else _understood_.

“I’m…” It’s like the air left his lungs, and he could feel the _pressure_ of _tell him tell him tell him_ , and _damn_ he was so sick of regrets over leaving things unsaid.

“God, _fuck, shit,_ I’m— _fuck!_ I’m a _boy_!” Through the slough of curses he managed the phrase. It still felt unreal, like the words were hiding. “I’m a _boy_ ,” he gritted out, taking a deep breath, drawing strength from the warm hand on his knee. “I’m a boy,” easier now, even with the wet on his cheeks.

There was another hand on his shoulder, then, and Luke was nodding, nodding, just nodding. Reggie leaned into it, relishing both points of contact.

After another minute of quiet and breathing, the guitarist must have figured the flood was passed, and he opened his mouth. “You’re a boy,” he said, and the way his entire face pulled up into that shining grin that made Reggie warm, happy, and a little bit flustered, shaping the words that made the current moment so, so _real_. “You’re a boy,” he said again. Then, with a squeeze to his shoulder, Luke continued, “thank you for—for telling me. For trusting me. With this.”

 _Of course. Of course_.

“I, uh, hm. Does anyone else…?” He stopped himself, fingers worrying at the fraying hole in Reggie’s jeans. “You’re a boy,” he started again. “Do you want—does Alex know?”

Reggie shook his head, furrowing his brow, relaxing it. Furrowing it again. “I was gonna see how this went and kind of…go from there,” he shifted, tightening an arm around his chest.

Luke was nodding, looking a little lost on what else to say. But the initial acceptance was there, Reggie thought. _Of course I can_. _Of course_.

“Whatever you need, I’ll be there for you, when you’re ready. If you’re ready,” Reggie nodded at that, feeling a sting in his eyes at just how _hard_ and how _easy_ it was to say, to a friend that he now knew valued him in all parts.

No need to clarify anything (yet), no need to justify anything, because goodness knew Luke hated trying so hard to do just that in his own life.

Reggie just…hadn’t been sure that kind of empathy would extend to… _this_.

Yeah, there had already been a sort of understanding through the clothes he wore (after looking through the local library for a week, he finally found a word for it— _butch_ ), the pins he’d found and made, the people he’d find brief solace in at shows, but it was another thing to say it out loud.

“Can we hug?” He was asking before he could stop himself, and the smile Luke gave him, quiet and viscerally _loving_ , was the thing that made Reggie feel how much weight had fallen off of his shoulders.

He let himself melt into an embrace for what felt like the first time in years.

Then, with levity that surprised even himself, Reggie mumbled into Luke’s shoulder, “this one can go on our country album.”

The answering laugh shook them both, and Luke mumbled back, “yeah, yeah, okay, it can.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumbo @ gracefulsinkingships and instagram @ kirrjaava


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